Wild
by moonandwinter
Summary: They had expected her to take an office job at the ministry, to settle down and live a quiet life. It seemed they all forgot she was a Gryffindor who craved knowledge. Draco felt a shame unlike anything before. On his shoulders sat the disgrace he and his family had earned. He never stopped moving, town to town, unable to face the people who he had hurt. Fate, chance, and love.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger had been the third in a famous trio of young heroes. She had faced death multiple times and had fought the darkest of wizards. There would be tales of her times during the war and of her adventures with her best friends told for many years.

But when the battle ended, when the smoke had cleared and dust had settled, Hermione watched as her friends grew and gained a proud confidence. The boys had become men, finding their place in the new world and making it theirs.

She, on the other hand, was left confused and a little lost. Many expected her to take a position within the ministry. Some even whispered about her becoming a professor at Hogwarts, and while these were all noble careers in of themselves, she couldn't shake the strange twist to her stomach at the thought.

The thought of… not being. _Of not doing._

That summer, nearly a year after the bloody battle at Hogwarts, she fled The Burrow. Not many people could understand her need, but Harry had known. He always did in that silent way of his. She was sure it would take Ron years before he could comprehend why they didn't work as a couple but she was positive he would be rather busy, what with all of his Auror work. Her heart was hurting in its loss but she determined to find her place.

To a witch who had experienced the adventure, the taste of adrenaline and excitement, there was no going back. Not that she had been one to simply sit and do as she'd been told. When she discovered she was a witch, she jumped head first, the drive to learn, to know, to be apart had overcome any of her anxieties.

The same could be said for her now. Hermione the Wild, she was called. The girl who chased unknown magical creatures across the land for the sake of knowledge. She who tamed a dragon with soft words and bribes of treats. She who risked life and limb over and over, who felt the absolute need to never stop moving, lest the nightmares return. Wild, they whispered.

Hermione couldn't resist the call of the unknown. She had never been one to let the challenge of remarkable knowledge go untouched and while many called her mad, she couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

Maybe she was mad. But, for the love of Merlin, she was _living!_

He was sure no one set to become the most hated person in the wizarding world. He'd even bet his measly income that his parents hadn't thought twice about whether or not they had been liked before… Before his privileged and painful world had been flipped and torn to shreds.

Now, however, it wasn't about being liked. Draco had shunned his father's teachings of superiority not long after the Death Eaters trails began. After the true crimes of the men Lucius called friends had come to light. The senior Malfoy had unsurprisingly been convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban. It had been a mighty relief to the young man, but he soon realized not all was well.

His mother had been dragged through the trials, both as a conspirator, but as a key figure in the final battle. She'd been spared by Potter's testimony. They very person he'd been raised to despise had saved the only light left in his life.

Within the few weeks after, Draco watched his mother begin to crumble. The once strong and proud matriarch became sullen and bent. She hid herself away, only letting Draco or the house elves see to her. She spent many hours tearfully flipping through obituaries, even going days without eating saying she had to; that she deserved to feel the pain she and father had caused so many others.

And like the coward he was, he fled. Draco could no longer watch his once beautiful mother fall into a pit of despair so deep that there was no bottom.

But he hadn't known, that murky London night, speeding through the air with his few belongings strapped to the side of his broom, that he would also be bringing her burden.

Because he too, felt the shame that enveloped her soul. He just didn't know what it was he was feeling. Not until it was too late.

And it hit him so hard he hasn't stopped running from it.

Draco Malfoy, disgraced prince of Slytherin, was reduced to secret names and under-the-table jobs in shady places. The once arrogant boy had become a haunted shell of a man, floating just beneath the surface, never feeling comfortable in one place for too long.

Fate is one thing Draco had believed in as a child and while he may have let go of such childish fantasies, the universe was not done with him. Not when two runaways were looking for something neither one could figure out.

* * *

><p>So, I revamped this whole story. When I first posted it, I was hoping to get some feedback to see if a Dramione fic would be something to invest my heart in, but I see now I had no choice. My heart has been in it since I read the first book all those years ago.<p>

So now I will be writing about my couple. I hope you enjoy!

-Moonandwinter


	2. Chapter 2

I have completely revamped the previous chapter and it is GREATLY different. Please take a moment, if you have been following this, to reread it and comment! Thank you all!

-moonandwinter

* * *

><p>Draco had taken the drastic move of dying his hair a dark brown. He let it grow but did not bother to tame it with magic as his father would have. He needed to be as different as possible. With only the experience of hiding in the halls of Hogwarts, he had tried to melt into crowds, lowered his face and attempted to stay unnoticed during his travels.<p>

Still, there were times when someone would look too closely, ask too many questions and he had to disappear again, fleeing the guilt that twisted cruelly in his stomach. He found even though he could leave the place, the pain would follow.

On unusually warm nights like this, where he sat comfortably watching wide expanse of the night sky, he'd find himself wondering about his old life, the people he used to know. He wondered what they'd think of him now, if they could see him. What they would think of what he'd been reduced too.

A simple man, living off of a small income. He worked with farm animals for Merlin's sake. They would laugh for years if they knew.

In truth, he didn't mind the work so much. The hard labor distracted his mind from his darker thoughts. He had been, for the last few weeks, the stable man for an old grizzled wizard who lived on the southern Norwegian coast. They barely understood one another but the work was simple to deduce. Mr. Doufjorn had gotten too old to manage his small heard of sheep and needed help to keep the small cottage they shared from falling into the ground.

Draco had been many things in his life so far, but he could honestly say a farm hand was never one he'd experienced, and while Draco had never even touched a sheep before in his life, he did have something that taught him how. Something that was invaluable and priceless.

It had been a gift from his mother that last year at Hogwarts. The year that he'd been told to do so many evil things that he hadn't wanted to ever do.

She had snuck it to him, just before he left on the train that year. His father was not at the station but he'd sent two "body-guards". More like goons to ensure his wife and son were staying in line. But she had been so clever, slipping it in with his school things. It was a bag, more like a simple small knapsack but it held such wonders.

The thing was enchanted to produce a book. A text for any given situation. It was true that he'd used it for school at the time, though that year his mind and worries were on much larger things and the magic of the bag knew so too.

It had given him a number of strange and awful books. Self-help, how to leave a toxic relationship, Acceptance of others and of oneself. Some even written by muggles. For a long time, he had tossed these titles back into the sack, ignoring the curiosity that lit his mind.

But eventually, after Voldermort's end, even after his Mothers downfall and his fleeing, he began to flip through whatever the bag offered. Soon, he began to read with ferocious appetite, clinging to words written by people who had no idea that his kind existed but had somehow managed to put into words the position he'd been in as a child. The bag would give him more and more, never expanding in size no matter how many books he put back, always able to revisit titles.

Once, not so long ago, he had a fleeting thought of one bushy haired nuisance and how he'd like to rub this little item in her face, but he stopped knowing that he truly didn't feel that way. It was how he had been conditioned to think, as the Muggle Doctor had written.

He'd thought of his childhood enemies often since he'd left his life and wondered of their own. Potter, he knew, would remain annoyingly humble, though little peaks of smugness were sure to be seen, he was positive. The red-headed terror would undoubtedly be soaking up the attention.

Granger? She could be doing anything. He knew the world thought her the brightest witch, but no one knew how clever and brave that silly girl was like him. She was his one true competition at Hogwarts and he had hated the respect he felt for her smarts.

A girl like her, muggle parents, not knowing a thing about magic until she was eleven. Then throwing herself into the world, eager to learn and do. Even risking her own life that first year for the sake of knowledge. It was, quite simply, astounding.

And he_ hated_ it. He hated that he was supposed to hate her, to resent the circumstances of her birth. That he had to push down the awe he felt when she learned how to do wordless magic, or the thrill he got when they were matched in wits.

And because this very topic always seemed to bring out the worst in him, he decided to call it a night and sit under the stars with a bottle of firewhiskey, trying to ignore the demons that threatened to rise up from his memories.

Little did he know, the very bushy haired demon was tracking a very dangerous, very real nightmare in the shape of a Pooka, not too far from his drunken slumbering body.


	3. Chapter 3

"Come on you little devil." Hermione whispered heatedly as she hunkered in the shadows of enormous grey boulders that littered the steep shoreline. The strange and dark creature she'd been chasing was lingering in the tree line, reappearing now after having vanished from her hunt for days.

She need only wait, though. It seemed the mysterious beast never veered far from the sea. It was costal. She'd have to remember to put that in her journal.

Now, however, she feared moving, remaining stone like. It was a skill she had perfected back at Hogwarts and used often during her travels. Still as a statue, she watched the sleek black horse-like animal weave in and out of the thick Norwegian tree line. Her heart pounded and she gripped her wand tighter as the beast unknowingly came closer to her hiding place.

There were very few times Hermione would condone the use of violence against a magical creature, but she was also very aware of the danger this particular one possessed. Its tendency for destruction for the sake of fun was known throughout the wizarding world, though not much else was. It was exactly why she wanted to find it and study its behaviors.

Moments stretched on, her single wild curl, the one damn strand of hair that would never stay in her bun, tickled her nose in the gentle sea breeze. The night was thick, the only light being that of the full moon as it glowed silver on the scene before her. She used all of her will power to not smooth the hair back or rub her nose.

Just when she was willing to risk death to ease the tickling sensation, she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Something beside the Pooka was coming quickly towards the scene.

Panic had no place in her heart as her body became battle ready. The wand she had trusted so dutifully was raised and ready and the adrenaline she so loved pumped through her.

And when a second Pooka came crashing across the sands towards the first, Hermione realized what was happening. It was his mate! The newest specimen was a female. Flames of amber and gold flickered down its back, becoming its mane and tale. She grinned like a fool realizing she was the ONLY Witch or Wizard to witness a female of this species. It was a historic find!

One she may not be able to claim, seeing as the creatures had become aware of her position when she'd moved to defend herself.

But instead of attacking, as is historically thought, the pair threw back their shiny black heads and fled into the darkness of the trees.

She cursed under her breath, jumping over a large piece of white driftwood. Hermione could not let this discovery go. Not after searching weeks to find the lone beast, let alone a pair.

Her body was moving before she knew what was happening. The shadows of the night engulfed her as the forest became thicker. Branches slashed at her face, but she still chased the faint flames light as it wove through the underbrush.

Her breathing became ragged and she was positive her thick flannel blouse was torn to shreds. She was about to give up, if only to resume the chase another time, when she heard a man's scream.

Her body jerked as the sound crashed into her and she forced her booted feet to move faster as they pounded through the thick growth. Far ahead, she could see a clearing. In fact, as she got closer, it became clear that this was a farm stead, hidden among the hills and trees. The wooden fence that lined the property had a four foot opening, shattered pieces of the logs littered the ground.

Her mind was reeling. There, before her, a tall man was slowly stepping around the frightened Pookas. His hands were raised, and while it was still too dark for Hermione to see his face, the moonlight allowed her to witness his smooth movements.

He was trying to calm them, she realized, shocked.

Too bad she wouldn't discover if it would have worked. The noise she made after skidding to stop alerted the trio of her presence and the beasts were not pleased. Quicker than any animal she'd seen so far, the male raised itself on his hind legs and lashed out at the man. He dodged but was not fast enough. A razored hoof slashed down his thigh.

Hermione was ready with a stunning spell, still not willing to harm the beasts. But she too, managed to be too slow. The creatures were thundering towards her and she had only a moment to think.

"Lumos!" She screamed, closing her eyes against the brightness that came from her wand. She heard the whines of the creatures and after a moment, their retreating hoof beats echoing through the clearing.

Tentatively, she opened her eyes. The light was dulling quickly but with it she was able to locate the man. His body was slumped, muttered curses drifted towards her in the now still air.

She reached him in moments, skidding to the ground with a huff. She didn't care that he may be a muggle. It was her fault he was hurt and she'd do her best to help him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She repeated over and over again, not quite able to look him in the eyes, instead keeping her gaze concentrated in his thigh. Deep red blood was beginning to stain the heavy denim fabric. She leaned in, aware that the man had become so silent.

Hermione's hands were shaking slightly, but she had to see the wound. If it were excessively bad, she'd have to floo him to St. Mungos but if she could heal it here, she would much prefer to.

"Ok, ok…" She held her breath and lifted the torn fabric. A large gash that started at his hip ran inwards, nearly 5 inches long, down his thigh. It looked grisly, some muscle tissue showing, but she sighed in relief. This she could handle. She had to do it once or twice on herself in the last few years.

"Sir, I'm going to fix this, Ok?" she whispered, finally able to lift her eyes. A pair of intense silver eyes stared back and something began to tickle the back of her brain. The moon was hiding behind the clouds now and her wand had finally gone dark. But his eyes were almost luminescent…

"Um, I can't fix this here. It's too dark." She stuttered, something about this situation had her feeling off. Maybe it was because he was so silent. Or more likely that his eyes were burning holes into her head. Her hands were still on him, one clutching the edge of the torn jean, the other holding his arm to support him. She would have pulled away if she didn't think he needed the support.

"Bloody Hell." He finally grunted. Her stomach knotted and she didn't know why. What in Merlins name was happening! He tried to stand, but was much too weak. The blood was seeping out faster than she thought. With the help of some carefully placed enchantments, she was able to lift him off the ground, and put an arm over her own slender shoulders. Her heart was pounding now. It was so similar to how it beat whenever she faced down a dangerous creature. A wounded, cornered, beast.

Her mind was so distracted, she nearly tripped, jarring the man's limp form. He cursed through gritted teeth making her flinch. He feebly pointed to the smaller of two cabin like shacks and thankfully it was no more than two dozen feet away. But the moving was slow. She didn't want to hurt him any further.

She kicked open the thin wooden door with one foot, taking out her wand and lighting the fireplace from across the room. Hermione wasn't a weak person, but this man was tall and while he looked on the thin side, he was packed tightly with dense muscles from labor. Her legs were nearly shaking from holding up his whole weight but still she managed to help him into the nearest chair, a large reclining one she thought was a tad out of place.

But now, with the warm glow of the fire lighting the room, she was able to actually see the face of the man she had hurt.

And she knew him.

"Draco!" She gasped, her wand instantly raised and ready.

The man however, didn't even flinch. His eyes became sullen and he turned his ashen face away from hers. Her name slipped from his lips, a sound that more resembled acceptance than the curse she'd expected.

And then he lost consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

He was swimming in fire. Everything burned, his flesh sizzling off bone. All the pain radiating from somewhere on his thigh, though he couldn't concentrate enough to pinpoint it. He would have screamed if possible, but the only thing he could do was grit his teeth and deal with it.

He deserved it. Draco thought hazily, that perhaps this is what the muggles called hell. That fiery place in which the sinners go. Those who were evil in their lives like him and his family.

It was so strange then, when he had finally accepted this punishment, that he felt something cold. Not pleasant but not painful either. In a way it became worse than the fire, his legs shaking with the intense difference.

And he was waking then. The fever induced sleep was coming off in layers, peeling away from the painful nightmare. But the fire stayed, battling with the new and terrible cold.

His eyes opened, glazed and hazy, searching for the source of his discomfort. Blurry shadows were dancing in front of him but one he knew. One specific shadow, with its wild hair and clean scent.

"Hermione." He coughed, his throat having become so dry it felt like he'd swallowed ash.

"You're awake!" She whispered, her face coming close. He could now see the shape of it, not quite the details. He wanted to reach out to touch her, if only to know he wasn't actually dead but the light was fading now and he knew he was going to pass out.

It must have been hours before he awoke again because there was not the natural light that normally came from the sun. Instead there was bright light that flickered behind his closed lids. His limbs were heavy and numb and the pounding in his head was so intense but the heat and cold were mostly gone.

Draco stayed very still as he sensed his surroundings. He listened intently and even smelled for strange scents. Soap, muggle coffee, and something like metal. Something he remembered with a sickening stomach.

"Don't try to move, please. You'll ruin the sealant spell I placed." Hermione spoke, close to where he lie. He must not have been as still as he thought.

He tried to speak but ended up coughing, though he did manage to keep his lower half still. Before he knew what was happening, his head was being lifted by a small but strong hand and he felt the sweet coolness of liquid touch his lips. He hesitated, an instinct that had been taught the hard way.

"Oh, come on Malfoy. I'm not going to poison you after saving you." She scoffed. He knew she wasn't going to kill him. But that didn't mean he trusted her.

Still, he had few options, what with being unmovable and all. So he opened his lips and let the fluid in, pleased that it calmed the burning ache in his throat. He felt it pool in his stomach and soon his body began to feel less achy. A healing potion. He should have known.

"Thank you." He managed, blinking away the sleepy fogginess. He didn't like not seeing, not moving, and especially not knowing. He had absolutely no idea why she was here, let alone helping him of all people.

The room became silent and he watched her figure drift over to the fire to throw another log on. Her body was illuminated by the orange glow as it cast long shadows across his single roomed cabin. Draco had spent many years watching this girl for many different reasons but never quite like this.

She turned to him then, a look of pain crossing her face. He was immediately on guard, flashes of her face from that horrible day back in Malfoy Manor making his stomach knot painfully.

"I am so sorry." She began, one small hand was rubbing her other arm. It was a subconscious move, one he knew meant she was uncomfortable. That would make two of them. "It was my fault the Pooka sliced you. I was chasing it because I need information and… And I'm sorry." Here, she looked back into he flames.

Draco was distracted by the way she was biting her lip and avoiding his eyes. It took a moment for his brain to catch up but when it did, he felt the earth tilt a bit. He shimmied up on his elbows and looked at the damage. What he couldn't anticipate was the blackened skin and the long red gash that still bled, if only a little.

She was standing next to him suddenly, her hands gingerly folding back the cloth that covered his torso. Long dark grey lines spread like tree roots from the wound, creeping up his stomach and down his right leg. He looked up to her, shocked to find genuine fear and worry dancing through her eyes.

"I had no idea that this would happen." She said softly, her voice tense. Draco's first instinct was to be angry. He wanted to blame her and shout and to be cruel. Be in the same breath, he knew that it really wasn't what _he_ wanted.

No. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing and listened to the crackle of the fire. He felt the need to thank her for all she'd done and ask her to leave so he could just die alone like he deserved.

But before he could say a thing, he realized she was still talking in that almost too fast way she had about her.

"The old man, he barely spoke English, but he helped me a bit. You were fevered for days. I tried to use my floo powder to take you to St. Mungos but it didn't work." She explained, waving her hands this way and that. Of course it wouldn't have worked. He hadn't set the floo charm. He never expected to use it, nor anyone else. Still he remained silent, not sure what to say. It had been so long since he had to speak with anyone, let alone someone from his past.

"Malfoy, I… I don't know how to stop this." She finally whispered, flouncing down on the stool next to his cot. He realized now, he'd been moved from the large chair. And that all of his clothes were missing.

Fighting the urge to cover himself, Draco instead inspected the wound with careful eyes. It looked awful but he barely felt anything. Most likely the potion she'd fed him. Another thing to be thankful for.

When the silence became unbearable and thick, he finally looked towards his school yard enemy. Her hair was thick and as chaotic as ever, though she managed it into a bun of some sort. But there were bags under her eyes and now that his own vison was clear, he could see the lines of worry tracing her face. And with it, the question he'd been avoiding all night.

"Why would you help me?"


	5. Chapter 5

The question made her stomach turn to stone. Hermione wanted nothing more than to heal his wound and leave a fast as a girl can run, but if what the Sheep herder said was true, she had a long road ahead. With him.

Draco might have been the world's biggest twat, spoiled to his core with a nasty habit of finding himself in bad situations, but she was a good person who didn't want to see anyone seriously hurt.

So she decided to use that as her reasoning and opened her mouth to tell him that very thought, but her guilt stopped her short. Throwing her hands up to cover her face against his intense stare, Hermione sighed heavily.

"I'm helping you because this is all my fault and if I can't fix it you will die. I may not like you, but I don't want you dead." She grumbled heavily, hating the way her body tensed for battle. She waited for a snappy remark or a cruel comment. She sat, squeezing her eyes closed, afraid to see the scorn and disdain that was always present on the blonds face.

But the room was too quiet and she thought for a moment he had fallen back to sleep. She peaked out between webbed fingers to see him still staring, but with none of the cruelty she expected.

"You can go." He stated simply, in a matter of fact way. Silver eyes seemed to focus on her with striking intensity. It made this whole situation worse. He was too still, too quiet. So unlike the lively brat she'd hated so much in her childhood.

"No, actually I can't. My morals won't let me." She snapped, wanting to add 'But you wouldn't know anything about that.' But stopped herself. No need to be petty just to get a rise out of him. She sighed again and started to pace. What happened! One moment she was alone and happy in the wild, chasing a mysterious creature, and the next she's sitting bedside to a wounded ex-Death Eater.

Damn.

The worse part was Hermione's own fear. The Shepard had found her trying to calm to intense fever that was wreaking havoc on Draco's lifeless body. He seemed to know exactly what had happened and what creature did it. She could barely understand his thick accent and was pretty sure he drifted in-between languages but the point had been too clear.

Malfoy was going to die. Slowly. Painfully. And it was because of her and her stupid desire to chase the damned Pooka's.

It was midnight now, on the third night. Her food pack had run low and she was starting to get sticky from the sweat that drenched her own body while working the difficult spells that slowed the bleeding.

Being reminded of this, she paced warily back to the small cot where the young man lay. He watched her, face a blank slate but she knew he was deceptively calm. After all, he was still Draco. She was trying to think of something to distract her mind, to pull her thoughts away from her guilt when a question popped up.

"Why are you in the middle of no-where? In a tiny shack, no less?" She asked, keeping her gaze on the large gash. She used her wand to clean the area once more and lay a few more sealing spells.

There was a long moment of silence in which she thought he might not answer but finally he cleared his throat. She felt his eyes on her but she just couldn't look at him.

"I left home after my Mother fell into a depression. I ran, like a fool." He stated, his voice sounding much too flat for her comfort. But it was his words that put her on edge.

"A fool?" She whispered, afraid that he was going mad. It's one of the stages of the Pooka's poison.

"Yes, Granger. A fool. A boy who thought he could out-run his guilt by leaving home and hearth and disappearing into the country." He growled and Hermione was strangely glad to see some sort of emotion from him, though it wasn't one she ever thought him capable.

She kept her gaze studiously down, noticing how the blood still pooled around the edges of the open flesh. No spell she knew could bring the torn sides together.

"And I still managed to die by the hands of one of the three." He sighed, voice sounding deflated and tired. She looked up, angry at his words, but more so that he may be right.

"Now that's not fair! I was just chasing those things from a safe distance. I had no idea they would happen upon you." She hissed, walking quickly to the far wall and opening a window. It was much too warm in here for her.

"And it was the middle of the night! What were you even doing in the middle of a field?" She continued, hoping to find a release from her disgustingly heavy conscious. "You were the one who didn't run! You stood with your hands up."

By then she had quieted some, realizing attacking him was not going to help her. Nor him.

His face was still blank, hands folded in front of him in an annoyingly proper way. For a man sitting half naked, covered in blood and sweat, looking like he'd been dragged through hell, Draco sure had a way of remaining dignified.

"Are you done?" He asked simply, though she would have bet money that she saw a little spark dance behind his smoky eyes.

Hermione pushed the stupid stray curl behind her ear and nodded shortly. Her mind was still reeling from the events leading up to this conversation and she couldn't quiet grasp it all.

"Since you are so determined to save my life, and trust me here, I have no idea why but since you are, I think I have something that can help." Malfoy said, his voice cracking. She refilled his water and handed it to him, watching as he gulped the whole thing. She'd have to keep an eye out. It seemed he didn't like asking for help.

"If you have a cure, then tell me so I can fix you and high-tail it so we can both go back to our lives. I'll even pretend to never have run into to you." She said hopefully. The little bit of humor she added brought that spark back to his eyes and she was happy to see his reaction. His strange deflated attitude was so unlike him, it made her uncomfortable.

He rolled his silver eyes and pointed to the old antiquated chest that sat next to the lounge chair. Its lid was heavy and creaked loudly but inside were no treasures. Just a few old cloth packs and leather bound Hogwarts school books. She looked to him questioningly.

"The green and silver bag. Grab it."

She did so cautiously not knowing what sort of dark magic could be attached to the thing. She carefully brought it to him, noticing how his eyes were becoming dull and tired. He'd been awake much longer than she'd have thought.

"There's a book inside with the answers." He yawned, laying back down heavily. His eyes were closing and she nearly yelled at him.

Reach into a seemingly empty bag? After his record of having dark objects? Yeah right!

But he said there was a book… One that might help him.

Therefore helping her.

Hermione sat over the sleeping blond for many moments, clutching the strange sack to her chest. She didn't have many options here. Either she trusted the untrustable boy or she wait until he was dead.

Damn.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione had, for all intents and purposes, tried so hard to simply not care about the younger Malfoys fate. She had taken the mental steps to remove herself from his body and leave the hut, not looking back. She tried to convince herself he deserved whatever horrors were to happen.

But he didn't and she knew that. So she sat on the stool with shaking hands and a heart that threatened to burst from her chest. He had said inside the strange bag was something that could help but the thing felt empty.

She looked over to the sleeping man. His hair had turned back to the pale blond she remembered. It had started to fade from the strange brown when she laid the healing spells and had come out completely after she used Scourgify to clean the blood from his body.

His sleeping face was much like that of his when awake, which was nothing like the sneer she remembered. Maybe that was where her nervous behavior stemmed from.

She analyzed her thoughts while Malfoys breathing lulled her, it was a touch shallow but none the less soothing in its steady pattern. She let her mind go over the events in an attempt to discover her true unease.

Hermione had been completely unprepared to find another human, let alone a wizard, in the barren lands of the southern hills of Norway. And then the injured had to be a face from her past. One she had tried so hard to forget.

But still it wasn't that that made her itchy to leave. Not quite. Her eyes traveled across the abode in which Draco had ensconced himself in. It was simple and Spartan. There was nothing personal; no photos, not even a comfortable blanket. The only thing that was out of place was the comfortable lounge chair in front of the hearth. The single room was clean but lived in. Not nearly like the land fill that was Ron's room. She shuddered, moving her mind away from those stressful thoughts.

Why had he chosen to live here? And did she really believe him? That he thought himself a fool? Maybe. He had seemed so serious. The ferrety face in which she had remembered so vividly had now looked… Strange. There was a painful dark resignation that tainted his pale complexion.

That was it. That was what was bugging her, she realized as, looking back to the sleeping figure.

He might be dying on the outside, but he looked like he had been dying on the inside long before she showed up.

Hermione wanted to scoff. She truly wished it was her whimsical mind, making up fantastic stories to make herself feel better, but she was a believer in truths and facts. The facts were he was dying now, after running from his past and guilt. She was the cause of the first issue, but that didn't mean she couldn't help him with the second.

Wait… No, she was only going to rid him of the Pooka poison and leave as fast as her feet could carry here. Right? It's not like she owed him anything.

Not really, anyways.

She sighed heavily and looked down at the strange bag. It could be a dark object. Cursed to kill her or some other such horrible thing.

Hermione closed her eyes and shove her hand into the dark confines of the smooth fabric. Her body jerked in surprise when her fingers came into contact with the soft expanse of an old leather bound tome. She smiled brightly, keeping her eyes closed, letting her fingers run along the intricate designs that were carved into the cover.

When she did manage to remove the book from the bag, she let her gaze fall onto it. It was very old, but very well kept. Its warm brown cover was painted with gold lettering in what she thought looked like ruins of some sort.

How he expected her to be able to read ancient unknown symbols, was beyond her but as soon as she opened it, she realized that there was more magic going on here than she knew.

The symbols on the ancient pages started to dance, jumping over each other and arranging themselves into perfect English sentences. A chill raced down her spine when she read the dates.

This book was from the bloody 5th century! She nearly dropped it for fear of damaging it with the oils from her skin but realized once again, this was a magical tome. She shouldn't worry about such mundane muggle things.

But still, a book this old was a beautiful find!

"Not really a _find_ though, is it?" she asked herself, glancing back to Malfoy who was becoming restless. His right hand was twitching and there was sweat beginning to form on his brow.

Hermione felt the tension pull at her heart, seeing the red stained sheets that lay across his bare torso. She would fix him, even if were the last thing she did.

Late into the night, she read, her hands ached and eyes became dry but there was so much knowledge about old and strange cures. There was bound to be one for the Pooka poison.

The fire light became dull as the sun peaked through the morning dew covered trees, leaving a fresh mist to cover the land outside the small window before her. She saw none of it.

Because the notes and pages that lay before her held the key to the cure. Or more truthfully, the ingredients. Hermione had a list of things to get and to do. And while it would likely take her weeks to procure these hard to find pieces, written among the ancient pages was also a quick fix.

Nothing permeant, but one that was said to temporarily halt the progression of the poison, allowing the victim to gather the ingredients for the final cure.

She had everything she needed here for _that_ potion and set about it immediately. Ash from a fresh fire, morning dew, cedar oil, and a smudge of Echinacea would need to be ingested with a strong drink. She had a small bottle of firewhiskey she'll have to give up but that wasn't so bad. She didn't drink the strong brew often.

It took a short time to get everything set up and cooking. While the small hut filled with the calming scents she drifted off to sleep in the large recliner, hands curled around the thick leather book.

* * *

><p>If you could, please drop a comment and let me know your thoughts so far. I'm putting much more into this story than I ever had before so it's a big deal for me to get feedback. Thanks in advance!<p>

-Moonandwinter


	7. Chapter 7

Draco had been awake for no more than ten minutes when Hermione decided to gain consciousness. Pity that. She looked rather charming curled up tight, book to breast, and hair a mad cloud about her. He had only those few moments to observe her in such a still state. It seemed that since they were children, she had always been in motion. A riot of action and intelligence.

Even when others called her strange for spending too much time sitting still reading, he had seen what they hadn't. Her leg, just the right one, would bounce when she was deep in a scroll. Both when she wrote something that required an intense amount of concentration. She was always moving her hands, whether it was flying across the page with a quill, or her fingers twitching through pages of a good book he knew she was never quite _still._

Of course, he would never tell anyone this. They'd wonder why he had been studying _her_ for hours in the library when he should have been doing homework or wreaking havoc on the first years. Even he hadn't known why.

Now, in the warm glow of the early autumn sun that beamed through his thick paned window, Hermione still vibrated with life. Her eyes popped open quickly and he nearly smiled at the swiftness of her assessing gaze.

"Good Morning." He rasped, watching as her eyes widened with surprise.

"You're awake!" She cried huskily, standing with the book still nestled in her arms. He half expected (or was it wished) she would walk to him, but instead she made a quick path to his work bench. Overnight, it seemed, she had created a workable potions lab. A small kettle burned over a strange metal appliance.

Something musky and earthy wafted towards him, making the pain in his abdomen ache as he inhaled deeply. He had been particularly good at potions back in school, but he couldn't quite place this scent. There was ash, for sure. Maybe dragons tears? No, that's not right…

His eyes were closed as he concentrated on his senses, letting his mind go quiet. It was simple to do these days, letting go of all of the outside "noise", as the book doctors say.

"Stay awake, Malfoy." She called softly and he was surprised by the tone. He peeked a glance and had the glorious view of her removing the large and unattractive grey wool sweater she'd donned sometime in the night. Her arms were exposed now but what he saw made his stomach tight.

Criss-crossing and pin straight lines, varying degrees of depth, marked the right limb, while it looked like the other was marred with a strange burn starting at the fingers, and ending at her wrist. It wasn't awful looking, and he only noticed them because he'd been looking but the sight still made him… upset.

Which surprised him deeply since he thought he'd lost all ability to feel anything other than guilt.

She had stopped her activity and was watching him, aware then that he'd been stuck on her scars. His gaze shot to hers, hoping she'd explain without him having to ask. Her warm brown eyes seemed hesitant but he kept his gaze open, willing her to see he meant no harm.

Finally she sighed, coming to sit before him with two full metal cups. Both she placed on the small makeshift nightstand. One of the cups was definitely Firewhisky. He'd know that smell anywhere. But still he kept his gaze on her. She looked down to her arms, running her fingers along the pale white lines.

"My first month on my own, I went to find my parents. I had removed their memory because…" She paused face turning a shade of pink, in anger or embarrassment, he didn't know. "… Because of everything. I had sent them to Australia our sixth year. When I got there, though, I ran into a few kinks." When her eyes looked far away, he began to fear she wouldn't continue.

"What happened?" He urged gently, his voice coming out raspy. She came back to the moment, eyebrows scrunched as if she were confused by his question. He would be too.

"I couldn't get them to remember. They were… afraid of me. I understood it though. It's not easy finding out a whole other world of magic and wars exists." She paused again, looking now at him with intensity. Here he knew, he couldn't not empathize. He always knew his kind existed. But she continued instead of lecturing. "I found a shaman there who did magic. He gave me an ancient spell to get them to remember. But he said it would hurt."

Her gaze dropped again to her wand arm, opening her palm to reveal a set of deep white scars running parallel down her palm and further up her forearm.

"It did." She sighed but she smiled gently. Her eyes shined now with a happy brightness that surprised him. "It worked too. They remembered everything. And they were Pissed!" she laughed, a sound he wasn't sure he'd heard before. It was light despite the conversation and he couldn't stop the small twitch to his lips in response. He was sure she noticed but was thankful she didn't point it out.

"I was a bloody mess. Literally. They had no idea what to do but the shaman was there and he healed me. The scars are permanent but I find I don't mind them so much." She grinned, looking past him into some unknown scene. He wondered what it must be like to have family you love so much that you'd smile after such a brutal experience.

"Anyways, the other scars are a story for another day." She muttered, fixing her gaze on him. It was the kind that reminded him eerily of McGonagall before she made him answer a question aloud.

"I'm not sure how this'll taste but you have to drink it all." She exclaimed, her voice held none of the lightness it had moments earlier. He missed it, then. But perhaps he missed any sort of happiness, not necessarily that of his childhood enemy.

"A cure?" He croaked, throat burning with acid. The pain was coming back in waves, the center of which was the large black gash on his thigh.

"Not quite." She whispered as her prim shoulders dropped slightly. He wanted to laugh at the forlorn look on her face. How could she feel sad that he'd die? He'd be dancing if he were in her shoes.

"But it'll do until we can get all of the other ingredients." She said with more commitment, the spark snapped back to life in her bright eyes. Still, he was not a hundred percent what she meant… The burn was becoming stronger making his mind hazy.

"Drink, drink!" She urged, probably noticing how the light in his own eyes was fading. The urge to sleep before the worst of the waves came was nearly overwhelming.

But she had made him this potion and had told a story that made him want to smile. He owed her that much. So with little thought and shaky hands, Draco gripped the first metal cup and in one large gulp had it down. He soon realized, though, that the Firewhisky would be needed and she was quick to help him swallow the strong brew before he could empty his stomach.

He kept his eyes closed as the warmth worked its way pleasantly through his body. It was unlike the burn of the poison. This was comfort embodied like silk, running softly through his limps, caressing his wound with tender gentleness. He sighed deeply, finally able to relax his body.

And while he thought he could finally sleep without the restless pain, he also felt a thrum of energy race up and down his spine. His mind, as well, was affected and he had a moment to actually think about her words.

"Find the other what?" Draco said, voice stronger than it had been for days, surprising even him. He kept his eyes closed, afraid he'd heard her correctly.

"Well, Malfoy. It's looks like we are going on an adventure." She chuckled. He groaned.

Oh dear.


End file.
